view of the mountains. Arthur brought out his
specimen box and plunged into an earnest botanical
discussion in Italian.

Two English artists were sitting on the terrace;
one sketching, the other lazily chatting. It did
not seem to have occurred to him that the strangers
might understand English.

"Leave off daubing at the landscape, Willie,"
he said; "and draw that glorious Italian boy going
into ecstasies over those bits of ferns. Just look
at the line of his eyebrows! You only need to put
a crucifix for the magnifying-glass and a Roman
toga for the jacket and knickerbockers, and there's
your Early Christian complete, expression and
all."

"Early Christian be hanged! I sat beside that
youth at dinner; he was just as ecstatic over the
roast fowl as over those grubby little weeds. He's
pretty enough; that olive colouring is beautiful;
but he's not half so picturesque as his father."

"His--who?"

"His father, sitting there straight in front of
you. Do you mean to say you've passed him over?
It's a perfectly magnificent face."